Mom: Claire’s uncle and aunt are here. They said hi to me and wished me well. That was nice.

Me: Yeah, great.

Why is she telling me this? I don’t care…kinda.

Mom: I thought so. I also saw Claire. Oh Jude, she looks completely heartbroken.

That makes my heart hurt a little.

Me: She should be.

Mom: Jude, don’t be like that.

Deciding I don’t want to deal with my mom right now, I tuck my phone in my bag and close my eyes again. It doesn’t take long before the coach comes in and does his speech about winning. I don’t listen, though. All I think about is Claire looking heartbroken.

Thanks, Mom.

Letting out a long breath, I don’t participate in the yelling of our school name, and I’m the first one out of the locker room. The anticipation of seeing her is killing me and has me on edge. I’ve done well hiding out and not having to see her. Yeah, I haven’t gone to school in a week, and I may or may not have skipped out of practice early just to make sure she didn’t see me, but I did that because I couldn’t see her yet. Even now I know I can’t see her, but it’s inevitable. I’m going to, and I just have to pray I can get through it.

As I stand at the end of the tunnel waiting for my teammates, I wonder if she’s nervous. If she’s on edge and thinking of me? I wonder if she’s going to try to talk to me, if she’s going to ask me why I won’t speak to her. What will I say? What will I do? She’s had such an effect on me, and I really don’t know how I’m going to handle being near her. So I’ll hope she doesn’t come up to me.

When it’s time to go out on the ice, I take a running start, and when I hit the ice, I wait to feel good; I wait for everything to be better.

But it doesn’t.

The first thing I do as I round the corner of the goal is I look for her. When I find her, she’s staring right at me, and I swear there are tears in those baby blue eyes. She does look miserable, and it honestly guts me. Looking away quickly, I find a puck and start to play, trying so hard to get my head in the game. We need to win this; we’re on a streak, and I’m not going to allow myself to fuck up because my heart is broken. But with every turn I take around the goal, I glance up to where she is standing, her pom-poms at her side and her eyes locked on me. She doesn’t move the whole time I warm up, and when it’s time to line up for the national anthem, for some reason I look back up at her, and she mouths what I believe to be “I love you.”

That causes me to bite my lip hard as I look away. If it is this hard to be fifty feet away from her, how am I supposed to go the rest of my life sometimes bumping into her on campus? I still have seven months at this damn campus. How am I supposed to function when I can’t even be in the same room with her without wanting to jump over sheets of glass and smother her with kisses? I know I could do it; I know I could get to her and take her in my arms and make her mine. She won’t push me away. I know she loves me; she just said it. But what about a week from now? Will I sit there and accuse her of lying to me every chance I get? When she stays out late for whatever she’s doing, will I believe what she tells me? I don’t know the answer. Yes, I want her, more than I can describe, and God, yes, I still love her, but a relationship stands no chance without trust.

The game passes in a blur. I somehow score a goal, but I’m sure it’s luck since I don’t remember shooting the puck. When it goes in, the crowd loses it while I just stand there, staring at where the puck lays behind the goalie. This is supposed to mean something, this is supposed to be my drug of choice, but all I’m doing is standing here, feeling as if I’m not really here. When Jayden hugs me tight, saying good goal, I nod and turn to head to the bench.

“Get your fucking head in the game, Sinclair!” Coach Moss yells.

“I just scored!” I yell back as I sit down.

“You aren’t even here!” he yells, and it always surprises me how he knows these things. Squirting Gatorade in my mouth, I lean against the boards and watch the rest of the game, refusing to allow myself to look back to where I know Claire stands. It’s hard, but I manage.

When the game ends, I take my time and shower. When I’m standing at the mirror, I actually consider shaving the beard that Claire loves. I even reach for the razor, but I know it’s out of spite, just to get rid of anything that reminds me of her. Then my eyes drift down to where her lips lay above my heart. I want to laugh. She told me not to do it, that it was too soon. Did she know that we would break up? Running my fingers along the lifelike tattoo, I feel tears sting my eyes. Letting out a breath, I walk away from my reflection with pain ripping me to shreds. I got the tattoo with the thought that it would remind me of the greatest love of my life, but all it does is remind me that I’m alone and without her.

Fuck, I was stupid, but I don’t regret it. I just need to get over the pain.

Getting dressed, I see that most everyone is gone, probably out meeting their families. I know that my family, minus Dad, is waiting for me, but I don’t want to leave the locker room. I know she’s out there. She might even be waiting for me. To be sure though, I text Jayden.

Me: Is Claire out there?

It doesn’t take long and Jayden answers.

Jayden: Yeah. She just talked to Mom and now is waiting by the door. You have no way of avoiding her.

I let out a long breath.

Me: Can you distract her?

Jayden: Lol. I would but I don’t want to.

Me: Jerk.

Jayden: I think you might thank me one day.

Me: Highly doubt that.

Jayden: We will see huh? Stop being a pussy and come out.

Me: Fuck you.

Jayden: Love you too.

Fucking jerk. Grabbing my bag, I throw it up on my shoulder and head out of the locker room to the lobby. Before I even get out the door, I see her. She’s leaning against the wall, her hands in the pockets of her sweats and her hair down, along her shoulders. When I’m fully out the door, she stands up, lacing her fingers together and coming to the middle the hall. I know I can go around her, completely ignore her, but for some dumbass reason, I stop in front of her.

Her lip wobbles, her eyes fill with tears, and I have to look away.

“I miss you,” she whispers, but I don’t say anything. I can’t. There is a lump in my throat, my heart is fucking dead, and I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. I need to just walk away.